Dream As If
by apathyburger
Summary: A new student arrives at the Institute with *several* mutations of his own and his own Weapon X training. He has the potential to destroy everything that teh X Men know
1. Default Chapter

Ororo felt her heart beat thud against the wooden knife pressed against her throat, breathing slowly, trying to keep her breathing under control, trying to ignore the slow trickle of blood already tracing down her flesh. The other members of the X Men lay in a pile, some sitting, some unconscious, close by her feet, those that were the strongest, those that meant the most to the scared children hiding in the woods, waiting to see the outcome.  
  
God a morphine addict! A suicidal 15-year old~ that was their one chance at escaping. And all Stryker or one of his men had to do was hold up a bag of needles and Alaster would surely give in. The act of raising the arm to offer the drugs might prove to be the hardest task-Alaster was channeling Magneto and keeping each man's gun firmly loaded and cocked against each forehead. With a sick silent sigh that ran round and round her head like a mantra, Ororo realized, he was not enough to keep them alive. Alaster was not strong enough.  
  
Wordlessly she watched as a man down the line of soldiers did what Stryker ordered him to and moved- reached a hand to try a point the gun away. The man didn't have time to close sweaty fingers around the cool barrel before it fired. She fought the urge to flinch (doing so would only slit her throat against the blade), to turn her head away from the blood and flesh that splattered all with in trajectory. She looked up to the roof to see Alaster's face, prominent cheekbones, scared eyes, before he ducked back behind the doghouse, trying to think she imagined, trying to clear his head and remember a suitable military tactic Stryker had drilled into his head. What to do in case of stand off. For a minute she heard his voice in her ears, in her head, faint but still quite there, 'I didn't mean to kill him. I flinched'. She thought back as hard as she could, thinking of Alaster, the way he had to come to be here, the way she knew him, and hoped he heard her when she said, 'I know. Kill them. Shoot them. Don't mind me.'  
  
Then his voice, fainter (he was growing weaker she realized), 'I can't. Too much blood. Too many innocents.' For a moment she couldn't understand- the soldiers? Innocent? Then she realized he referred to the people piled at Stryker's feet, well within his reach, referred to her. She thought of him again, thought hard, 'Please.' Please do something. Please make a move, please think of something. This, waiting! This standing while her legs cramped, while Marie cried softly, this mad desire to just have something happen so she'd know whether she was to live or die, this future standing her in the face.  
  
"Give in or she dies!" called Stryker with the air of one commenting on the weather. "First!" he added as an after thought, nonchalant. She dies? thought Ororo, as a new surge of adrenalin began pumping through her veins, her hands beginning to shake; she began clutching her pants to quell the movement. She dies? That was not the deal from before. Before it was give in, and I let them go. Sure the chances of Stryker holding true to his word were slim, but she very much did not want to die. Alaster's out stretched, fingers spread, hand shook visibly for a moment; he closed it, making a fist, lowered it and with every inch as it moved closer to the roof's hot baked shingles, the weapons lowered from the soldier's cheeks, skulls and chins.  
  
Alaster emerged from behind the doghouse, strode to the edge of the roof and jumped down the 3 stories. Landing in a crouch he stood and moved to be within Stryker's reach, who pushed Ororo away; she landed on the ground crumpled, her sore muscles screaming. She thought for a moment she'd rain down fire, brimstone, lightening, but Alaster caught her eye, shook his head slightly no. '..be dead before your eyes..' she heard. Stryker eyed up Alaster and Alaster, to his credit did not break the stare, refused to let his shoulders shake or turn in like they did when anyone looked at him. Ororo noticed he had removed his necklace, the short, link chain with his brother's cross and parent's wedding rings. His parents' will had been so precise, she remembered from the reading, even dictating who received their CD collection and their wedding bands. She supposed it must have hurt Alaster how many people had arrived to hear the will read, making it seem as if they were there only to know what had been bestowed upon them.  
  
Stryker cleared his throat, said softly, "Welcome back." Alaster spat in his face and Stryker only smiled. Wiped the spit off with the back of his hand and said, "On your knees. Now." Ororo knew every X Men watching, and all the children in the woods were asking, begging Alaster not to scumb- perhaps if Jean wasn't unconscious.. Alaster knelt; Stryker took another man's gun and hit Alaster strongly against the temple with it. Alaster fell to the ground, putting up no fight to defend himself.  
  
Disclaimer: Please skiddle on over to my bio- I have explained everything. Thank you. I am also looking for someone willing to look over this story's chapters as I am writing it- making sure I'm clear and concise- 2 things I rarely am. Thank you again. 


	2. Chapter Two

A/N If you didn't realize earlier, this story will have the following elements: masochism, sodomy, rape, suicide, drug abuse, physical and sexual abuse, and severe forms of grief, pain, and hurt, among others. See the "R" rating. There's still time to back away now.  
  
Chapter Two: 9 Months Earlier  
  
Bobby stared eagerly at his food- Ororo had cooked tonight. That meant it was spicy, interesting. When Scott cooked it was always something basic and All-American and Jean stuck to the same old dishes that she had learned as a child; Logan burned foods or over cooked them. But Ororo- she played around with her cooking. Yams, humus, thanks to Ororo Bobby had tasted those. Bobby always left enough room for dessert though (you could never have enough dessert)- frozen Twinkies and Hostess cakes. Maybe Marie would join him and John tonight- for some reason Bond appealed to her more than last night's 'American Psycho'. Bobby took a big mouthful of the veggies that he didn't know the names of and brown rice, and then almost choked when he heard the sharp ring of the buzzer. That was unexpected.  
  
Professor X turned his chair and glided- the Professor was the only person in a wheel chair Bobby had ever seen that glided though perhaps it was because the Professor didn't in fact use the wheels but his mind- to the buzzer, pressed the button and asked who it was. Bobby listened with his mouth full, chewing. He caught John's eyes and shrugged. John motioned to his drink and mouthed the words "too warm". Bobby stretched a finger and frosted the glass cooling down John's soda. "NYPD," came the scratchy voice. Bobby could hear the rain in the background. "We have in custody someone with a wallet that is believed to belong to one of your students." Professor pressed the buzzer that opened the gate, then looked upon his students.  
  
"I do not think I need to stress the fact that now is an excellent time to be on your best behavior," he said. John clinked his lighter shut and the miniature version of Kiss, made of fire, which was dancing on top of his dinner faded off. Scott fixed his visor and drummed his fingers upon the table, ready to rebuke the owner of the wallet next training session, already planning what he would yell probably, thought Bobby. He checked his pocket- his was there. They all sat waiting, chewing their food with their mouths closed, silent. Except for Jean- she must have thought something to Ororo because Ororo smiled and laughed, loudly, almost spitting out her food. That was also unexpected, thought Bobby- Ororo had excellent table manners from someone who'd learned them from watching reshowings of Audrey Hepburn movies.  
  
The heavy wooden doors with magnetic locks opened, and two wet policemen stepped inside the dining hall, with a dripping youth between them. He had mussed up peroxide blond hair that curled over his ears, dark skin that made him look slightly Arabic, like Ororo only lighter, like he had a nice tan. His arms behind his back, he threw his head back and flicked the wet hair out of his eyes, met each of their glances in turn, glaring. Bobby shook his head- this guy could be the next American Psycho. He looked a bit unstable, water dripping off his ripped, gray, long sleeved T Shirt (a bit cold for the March weather, thought Bobby, and then looked down at his own T Shirt and surf shorts. Maybe not) and running down his loose black pants to soak into his scruffy shoes. He raised an eyebrow when Bobby caught his eye, making the scar on his eyebrow seem to split the line of hair in two move up, as if he had a bad waxing job. "Sorry to disturb you Mr....."  
  
"Professor. Xavier. These are my students."  
  
"Small school?"  
  
"Prestigious." Bobby looked around the table, trying to look at everyone the way the cop would- guy with a visor, the Goth chick, the All American boy, a couple little kids (one with a forked tongue, which would hopefully stay under wraps) and slightly more teenagers of varying maturities than any other age bracket- it did seem like a weird student body.  
  
"Is there a Scott Summners?"  
  
Scott stood, looking surprised. "Summers." The policeman pulled a wallet from his pocket and tossed it at him, Scott catching it and flipping it open, blushing slightly, red staining his cheeks. Bobby smiled. This was priceless. "Bobby why didn't you do your homework? That's irresponsible!' 'Sorry Scott, I guess I forgot. Good thing I didn't leave it for the NYPD to find though'. Oh yes, this was good. "No cash," Scott sounded upset.  
  
"You honestly didn't expect to get that back did you?" asked the dripping guy, a lilt to his voice; Bobby had figured out why his hands were behind his back at that weird angle- he was handcuffed. "Fuck Professor, you're not exactly teaching the kids common sense are you?"  
  
"Watch your language," said one policeman, elbowing the kid lightly in the ribs, getting a growl in return. Logan's found his new best friend, thought Bobby. The thief rolled his head backwards, audibly cracking his neck. He shifted his weight slightly; Bobby caught the action, surprised that he did- centering himself.  
  
"Look ou-"Logan started but the thief had already started to move. He separated his hands; handcuffs still attached to one and caught one policeman in the chest, extracting a large 'oof!' Ducked under the other's arms and punched up, turning in a round kick that hit the first in the face. Reaching down he grabbed one's wallet and bolted, the entire event taking less than a minute.  
  
Ororo stood and ran after him; Bobby did not pity the guy- she was the fastest one sitting at the table. Jean and Scott went to check on the policemen, one already coming around, and the other shrugging off Jean's hand to run out the door also, following. All in the room waited, anxious to see what was happening next. Bobby heard the sound of the door opening, looked up from his fork, why let the food get cold?, to see the policeman bringing back the struggling thief. "Sit," he said acidly, pissed. "Broke into the car," he said to the other policeman. The thief kneeled and stuck his hands out in front of him for the cops to handcuff him, attempting to bite one who moved his hand too close to the youth's face. Bobby looked for a moment at the boy's hands- he had stuck his thumbs through holes in the sleeves, making makeshift gloves. He looked up at the boy's face when he began to laugh softly but strongly. "What?" asked the wetter policeman, cuffing the teen evidently not putting him in a better mood.  
  
"You're cuffing me in a room full of mutants? Shouldn't you have other priorities?"  
  
"What are you... so I think we will go now, right Andrew?" said one cop, looking a bit bewildered, his voice sounding strange, like he had been on too many roller coasters and had yet to find his balance. The other nodded, also looking disoriented.  
  
"What do we do with the kid?" The last few words sounded strange, strained and as if the cop was speaking through a mouth of sawdust.  
  
"What kid?" The other cop shook his head slightly, mouth ajar and left the room, following the first cop. The thief continued to kneel on the ground, watching them go, looking interested. His handcuffs were off again and he was slipping a thin piece of metal back into his pants.  
  
"Good show then, I'll be leaving," he said standing, leaving the handcuffs on the ground, taking the book bag that he had dragged inside with him, one of the ones with a pocket for a skateboard which the thief had, one wheel slowly revolving.  
  
"Wait," said Scott. "What makes you think we're mutants?"  
  
"Oh other than that then? Chronologically? Alright. Well there, Visor Boy, you might want to work on the fact that if someone's tailing you because you have your wallet sticking out of your back pocket- not a wise place to put it then- they could see a reflection of your eyes on to that bit of plastic you've got going. Red eyes, how normal. Two? When you chased me outside," Bobby watched as he turned to Ororo, her chin lifted in defiance, "rain normally comes straight down, right? Why the hell did it avoid you? Maybe cause you had that fog over the eyes and control the weather thing going. Three- your glass is completely frosted over." He pointed to John now. "That's generally not normal, especially in a room as warm as this. You've also been clicking your lighter this entire time and there's no amount of lighter fluid that'll make flames do what you were doing with them." He turned to Bobby, who gulped. What did I do? "The second I pointed out the glass you looked guilty so I'm assuming, and if I'm wrong sorry, you're the one who frosted the glass. You," onto Marie, "Aren't touching anyone and have enough lace to cover the cast of Rocky Horror so I'll go out on a limb and say it's not because you're modest or shy. And you? Wolf Man? The minute I said you all were mutants, which I may add, none of you denied, you started to grow metal spikes between your fingers. But then we all know that's normal because just the other day it didn't happen to me. And you two. You fucking telepaths- you've been trying to read my mind this entire time and trying to get into my head and would you stop! IT FUCKING HURTS!! You're not going to get in there so stop trying! Alright?! Good, fine then, I'm going." He started to turn but stopped again when he heard-  
  
"No." Logan stood, unsheathed and Bobby shivered involuntarily at the *schnickt* his claws made. The thief sighed and dropped his bag.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me it was show and tell time? Could have brought my pet rock to the table. But I suppose this-" He unsheathed his own metal spikes, "will have to do. Anything you can do I can do better- you do it, I see it, I can mimic it, do it, perfectly," he said quietly. Slid them back in and stared for a moment at the blood starting to come down his hands. "Strange, you don't seem to be bleeding."  
  
"Because I haven't sheathed mine."  
  
"Logan! No," said the Professor, in his best commanding voice. Bobby fought the urge to hit the ground and give him 20, then lick his wheels clean. That could be next. The thief uncurled his hand and as he did all the drinks in the room lifted out of their glasses and swirled together, beginning to heat, steam rising from them.  
  
"What can I say? Got many a talent, I do. And I will be-" He stopped talking a puzzled expression on his face, then began to choke, a silver chain necklace around his neck twisting and yanking him upwards off the floor. The mix of drinks dropped and Bobby ducked to attempt from being splashed and burned, throwing up a wall of ice in front of those sitting at his side of the table.  
  
"Erik!" called out the Professor. "Let him go!" It was a bit like watching someone being hanged only backwards because they were supposed to fall to the floor and strangle, not fall up, thought Bobby, standing as did most in the room.  
  
The thief was kicking his feet, had his hands wrapped around the chain yanking at it trying to make unwind, his head brushing against the tall ceiling. "Erik!"  
  
"Charles, Charles, Charles... Can't you see who this boy is? Rather, can't you feel what he is? Don't try to deny Charles, you can feel it as I can, especially now that the boy's guard is down."  
  
"Let him go Erik."  
  
"I'm helping you. I'm helping myself. This boy could ruin everything we have- you know that. No one with this much... strength... but fine- I'll leave it to you. Stop fighting!" Magneto seemed to be directing his anger at the thief now who was kicking slowly, less and less. Two knives rose from his being, ripping through cloth to get free, then slicing through his hands, pulling him back and pinning him to the wall, his arms outstretched, now unable to try and loosen the chain. His head was falling forward, his lips blue and everyone was standing still and watching, shocked, and Marie's mouth was open (Bobby figured his was too, wide open, his mouth with bits of food in it). "Charles, old friend, you know I do this because you wouldn't dare to. Chose- the boy lives, this boy who doesn't even know his name- can't remember- sound familiar? The boy lives and suddenly you have a new foe on your hands for even if he was to work for you, with you, your noble cause, he'd still bring it down, ruin everything you've worked for, he's just too powerful. But if the boy-"  
  
"Let him go Erik!" The Professor raised his voice once again.  
  
"Fine, old friend. The choice was yours." Bobby could almost feel Magneto waving his hand, shrugging, the knives falling out of the wall, out the youth's hands and hitting the floor (each bent in half), the chain untwisting so he fell to the ground gasping, coughing, hacking. Magneto must have been right outside the window because Logan had spent the encounter sitting in a rigid form, pain written on his face. But now he loosened and Jean, Ororo, they ran over to the coughing pile on the ground-  
  
"What the hell did you do to me?!" The pile yelled and put up a wall, an ice wall splattered with blood, between him and the rest of the room, kneeling, gasping still, staring at the holes in his hands, unable to stop coughing, the blood pooling on the hard wood floor, streaming still from the cuts caused by unsheathing replica's of Logan's claws.  
  
"Kid. Watch," and the thief looked up; Bobby, everyone did to see Logan take a knife and slit his arm, the blood curling around and around his skin and then began to heal. The kid stopped coughing and began to heal himself, mimicking. He breathed easily now and stood.  
  
"What did you do to me?"  
  
"Wasn't us!" said John and then immediately shut his mouth, a strange event for John, unexpected, thought Bobby.  
  
"Then who the hell was it?"  
  
"Magneto," said Marie softly.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Erik Lasher, also known as Magneto," said the Professor. "A powerful mutant with the ability to control magnetic forces. He seems to not have taken a liking to you."  
  
"And you- you have numerous mutations too? How?"  
  
"I was born with an advanced healing factor. An experiment took advantage of this and coated my skeleton with adamantine. You?" Bobby looked at Logan, as everyone else did. Speaking in a conversationalist tone? Willingly divulging information about his past? This was not the cigar-smoking-and-beer-guzzling-when-no-one-was-looking-loner everyone thought they knew talking to this stranger. The stranger began to melt the wall, flowing back into him.  
  
"I don't know." The thief stepped back slightly and his foot slid in the blood. He stretched his hand over it and the blood rose up, drained back into him in a back wards flowing stream. Bobby watched, mesmerized.  
  
"I could help you remember, if you'd give me the chance," said the Professor quietly, not moving his chair from where it stood between the thief and the table.  
  
"How?"  
  
"By going into you mind. Unlocking any memories that were there. Give me a month and I could help you."  
  
"A night."  
  
"2 weeks."  
  
"2 days, 2 nights."  
  
"A week."  
  
"3 nights, 3 days."  
  
"5 nights, 5 days."  
  
"3 nights, 3 days."  
  
"Agreed." The Professor held out his hand and the thief walked gingerly forward, shook it. "You'll have a room, and feel more than welcome to use our facilities as you see fit, within reason of course." The Professor moved off, talking, the thief followed, and everyone else who remained at the table looked at each other and tried to figure out what had just happened.  
  
**A little bit later**  
  
Someone knocked on the Professor's door, interrupting Scott in the middle of "What if he's Mystique in disguise?"  
  
"Scott, Mystique can only mimic. This boy can actually use other mutants' powers when he chooses to, once he sees them used. He demonstrated that to me earlier. Come in." The boy entered, stood before them.  
  
"Is everything alright?"  
  
"I wanted to ask you something before and I forgot. Well, actually I chose to forget but..." Scott thought for a moment that the boy actually was a teenager, he sounded so like Bobby stuttering through an excuse, "what do you get out of this?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"What do you get out of this? Sex? Money? Drugs? What do you want in return?" The youth enunciated each word, spoke slightly slower as one would do to someone hard of hearing.  
  
"Nothing. I ask only that you follow the rules of the Mansion."  
  
"Which is what? I don't complain when people come into my room late at night? I clean the floors? Give me something to go on, please." The thief stressed the word please, making it seem almost a threat, a warning.  
  
"What's your fixation on sex?" demanded Scott, forgetting for a moment that this was a teenage boy.  
  
"It's the currency I find myself working in the most. Now if you don't mind Sport-o, I was having a conversation in which I was waiting for an answer?" It seemed easier to forget the boy was a boy, now that Scott had heard that.  
  
"You will abstain from drugs and alcohol on school grounds; you try and abstain from foul language; you treat all those here with respect and you will be awarded the same. You do not use your mutations on any other students or any of the facility here."  
  
"And I share. Is that it?"  
  
"Yes." The thief nodded once, thinking, then turned and went to leave. "Wait. What is your name?"  
  
"I don't know. That's your part of the bargain."  
  
"What may we call you?"  
  
The thief hesitated. "Nova." He left. 


End file.
